


John's Missing Wednesday

by 72reasons



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Drugged John Watson, Idiots in Love, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Sherlock Holmes is a Bit Not Good
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:15:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28442283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/72reasons/pseuds/72reasons
Summary: Inspired by thisgifat the lovely @free-martinis blog on Tumblr.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 11
Kudos: 54





	John's Missing Wednesday

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Alihahdnaid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alihahdnaid/gifts).



> Inspired by this [gif](https://onesmallfamily.tumblr.com/post/638976836374773760/all-i-see-is-bearded-john-and-his-missing) at the lovely @free-martinis blog on Tumblr.

He hadn’t anticipated this. He stood in the corner of his room and stared at the bed. John was on his bed with one foot on the duvet, one on the floor. He writhed a bit and every few minutes he’d sort of...giggle or smile. Or, to Sherlock’s great distraction, smack his lips. He was asleep, Sherlock was sure of it. 

He stood there and blinked at the display before him. If he was downloading and saving every detail to a secret bedroom closet in his mind palace, it was no one’s business but his own.

It was supposed to be an unexpected opportunity to relax for John, a rare free day. John had announced that he didn’t have work the next day and he was going to stay home and read, cook, and maybe take a walk in Regent’s park. All after a proper lie in. This was presented with a puffed out chest and an expression that was both serious and pleading. John looked forward to a day of relaxation and Sherlock was not to “fuck it up.”

To Sherlock, it sounded like a perfectly planned waste of time. 

However, it also seemed like the perfect opportunity for Sherlock to experiment a bit. He didn’t quite think it through, but one thing he was certain of - John would never know that he’d been drugged and observed. Now that sounded like Sherlock’s perfect Wednesday. 

John. Trusting John. After a long sleep, he was in such a good mood. He listened to music and made Sherlock tea for once. John hummed and slowly read the paper. He’d nicked Mrs. Hudson’s Daily Mail and enjoyed tutting at a photo of a busty blonde in a tiny hat.

Sherlock had slapped the little membrane onto John’s neck while pretending to steer him away from the kettle and into his seat. “Yes, thank you for the tea, John. Wonderful surprise.” John rolled his eyes but went willingly. 

Fifteen minutes later, John took off his dressing gown. He threw it across the room, proclaiming, “Hot!”

Sherlock’s hands froze on the keyboard as he gave John a side-eyed glance. John sat in his chair wearing plaid boxers and a dark green t-shirt. Sherlock had seen this before, although it was rare enough that he turned in the kitchen chair to ask, “All right?” 

What he had definitely not seen before was John, half-smiling, eyes half-lidded, pupils dilated staring back at him. It was a positively textbook sign of arousal. And it was directed at him. 

Not moving any part of his body except for his lips, he said, “John?”

John leaned forward, spread his legs and placed his elbows on his knees. He tilted his head, licked his lips and said, “Sherlock.”

Sherlock noted the slightest slur in his speech. The drug on the patch worked a bit slower than he had anticipated. If he'd only been able to inject it somehow... John’s transition to unconsciousness shouldn’t have taken this long. His attention snapped back to John as he spoke. 

“Sher. Lock. Sherlock. Sherrrrrrlock. Sherlock Holmes. Holmes.” John continued staring while invoking his name over and over. “Holmes, Holmes, Holmes, home, home, home, home, home. My home.” He smiled, a small soft thing.

John stood up, surprisingly steady, and walked over to where Sherlock sat. He never took his eyes off of Sherlock’s face, spending most of the journey staring at his lips. Sherlock stood up, ready to provide stability if necessary.

John half-lunged, half-fell into Sherlock’s arms. He gripped both arms around Sherlock’s waist, resting his chin on his sternum and looked up. Sherlock held him under his arms and looked down into John’s face. His own brows furrowed. 

“You sexy bastard.” 

Sherlock’s frown deepened. John was not in his right mind. Sherlock had a pang of guilt but dismissed it the way all cold-hearted, sociopathic scientists would. Data was to be gathered, lives may be saved with the knowledge of this drug. This justification might have sounded more convincing to his own ears if he wasn’t currently and actively moving his hips away from John in the hopes that his flatmate wouldn’t feel something he’d been regularly hiding for the full two years of their acquaintance.

“John, I think - “

John squeezed his arms tighter, pursed his lips and tried to surge up, presumably to kiss Sherlock. Their lips never touched because John’s compact body went limp. John was not a large man but Sherlock was dangerously close to dropping him.

Sherlock held him tight and awkwardly walked him backwards to the nearest flat, comfortable space - his bed. 

“Fuck, Sherlock,” John slurred, “you smell fantastic.” He smiled up at Sherlock but it seemed he could not open his eyes.

As he dragged John’s limp body across the room, he realized that his transport was lighting up at every point of contact between them. John’s chin and cheek resting against his chest. His nose and lips brushing grey-blonde hair as he looked down to make sure John was all right. John’s chest bumping along his stomach. Their knees thumping together as John tried to get his feet to work. He didn’t even want to think about the drag of John’s abdomen across his groin. He hoped with every molecule that John would not remember that particular humiliation. 

“Posh boy,” John drawled before Sherlock hurled him up and away onto his bed. He jumped back to the corner of the room and stared. After a moment he noticed his rapid blinking and made himself stop. 

What had he done? As John settled into soft snoring, he wondered what to do with the following features of interest: The drug worked too slowly for its intended purposes. John was attracted to him. He was attracted to John. He was desperately in love with John. 

He stood in the corner, just watching. He let his eyes devour John’s bare skin, his surprisingly thick thighs, the soft light fur that covered the whole surface, the bulge of his pectoral muscles, his biceps flexing in his tight t-shirt. 

As Sherlock was known for misunderstanding the difference between “good” and “not good,” he was unsure what to do with John’s leg which dangled awkwardly off the bed. He stared for an unknown period of time while John slept soundly. 

Because the flat was always cold, John’s skin began to pebble. Sherlock wanted to tuck him into the sheets and monitor his vital signs for the rest of the day. He expected that John should be out for hours but the data projection wasn’t one hundred percent accurate. 

Slowly, he made his way to the side of the bed, aware of his heart beating loudly in his ears. He reached for John’s bare foot. Gently he wrapped his both hands around his ankle. Warm. Under thin skin, he felt hard smooth bone with his long sensitive fingers. With light pressure he ran his hands upwards to John’s calf, feeling the soft hair fluff in the wrong direction as he made his way up to his knee. He lifted John’s leg up onto the bed and hesitated. He needed to let go of John’s knee. 

After a long moment, he let go of John and covered him with the other side of his quilt. John snuggled into Sherlock's pillow with a satisfied moan. At the sound, Sherlock could feel his face flush. God, but he wanted John. 

He turned and went back to the kitchen table for his notebook. He’d check on John every thirty minutes until he seemed ready to wake. By the time that happened, he would think of a plan to get John to his own bed none the wiser. 

He knew he could never tell John what he’d done. After Baskerville, John would be furious that he’d done it again. His appeals to the importance of his research to science would not be well received. But he could keep a secret and lie as well as a Shakespearean actor. Besides, the most important piece of data he’d collected so far was that John wanted him. Starting tomorrow, he had some new goals. 

Seduce John. 

Live happily together. Forever.

**Author's Note:**

> I am [onesmallfamily](http://onesmallfamily.tumblr.com) on Tumblr, please come by and say hello.


End file.
